[Fanfic] In Our Sanctuary, DenNor
Title: In Our Sanctuary
Author/Artist: me
Character(s) or Pairing(s): DenmarkxNorway
Rating: G/ K
Warnings: none
Summary: Deanon from the kink meme. The prompt was: "DenNor, complete and utterly romantic (and non-smutty) fluff. Slice-of-life, established relationship, brief visit-- anything goes as long as it's disgustingly, sappily romantic. Just no sexings or angst, please.
Bonus: Make-out session out of nowhere."
Norway let out a little sigh of relief as he threw his back against the front door, slamming it shut against the brutal winter chill and all-consuming darkness beyond it. He was used to the cold and considered himself to be pretty thick-skinned, but there was a point at which even he was no longer able to handle it. Tonight the temperature had fallen to that point, the point at which even breathing became painful, the harsh wind coaxing moisture into gathering at the corners of his eyes where it began to freeze. Norway would never have braved it if he and Denmark hadn’t run out of firewood.
“Oh, you’re back!” Denmark exclaimed, joining him in the entryway so that he could relieve him of the load of wood he’d brought in. “You took so long I was about to send out a search party.”
Norway sniffled and rubbed his frozen nose irritably. “If you wanted it done faster, then why didn’t you come out and help me? Stupid Brother.”
“Did you want me to?” Denmark asked in surprise as he dumped the wood into the storage rack beside the fireplace. “Last time I tried to help you, you got all mad and said you could do it yourself.”
Norway slowed in his process of removing his heavy fur coat as he tried to recall. Oh yeah, he had gotten annoyed with Denmark, hadn’t he? Then again, when was Norway not annoyed with Denmark? He knew his lover meant well, but there was only so much obsequiousness that he could take before it started to piss him off, and Denmark seemed to want to do everything for him. Still, Norway couldn’t help being miffed for some reason that Denmark hadn’t helped him with the firewood this time.
“Hmph,” he huffed grumpily, flexing his still stiff fingers as he stepped out of his boots.
Once Denmark had finished stoking the fire, he ushered Norway back to the couch in front of the hearth, pushing him down on it and taking a seat beside him. The flames were the only source of light in the room, casting a warm, flickering glow over everything and giving it a pleasant homey ambience. Subdued crackling from the burning logs drowned out the soft ticking of the clock which now read past ten o’clock PM. It was the kind of atmosphere in which Norway might have enjoyed curling into Denmark’s side with a novel and a cup of hot cocoa if he hadn’t been forced to leave his cozy haven to chop wood alone in the deathly cold and dead of night.
Denmark took Norway’s smaller hands in his, peeled off his half-frozen gloves, and examined his fingers. They were red from the cold. Norway was pretty sure that if he’d stayed out there any longer, he would have gotten frostbite.
“Holy crap, Norge! Your hands are freezing!” Denmark marveled.
“Obviously,” Norway groused. “No thanks to you.”
“Sorry Bro, I woulda helped you out if you’d asked!” he promised. “I just didn’t want you to get mad at me again. Here, let me make it up to you, ok?”
He cupped Norway’s hands in his and brought them to his face. Norway’s chilled cheeks pinked as Denmark began to blow warm breath on his frozen fingers. Without thinking, he slipped his fingers between Denmark’s, lacing them together. Denmark folded his thumb in obligingly against Norway’s palm, allowing him to close his hand around it. Suddenly he was beginning to feel warmer.
Denmark stopped puffing air on Norway’s skin so that he could touch his warm lips to each of his lover’s knuckles in a series of soft kisses. Norway watched his progress in silence. His pride told him that this was a poor excuse for compensation considering what he’d been put through, but to be embarrassingly honest with himself, he was rather enjoying this. He squeezed Denmark’s fingers gently to show his wordless approval.
When Denmark had finished treating Norway’s last knuckle, he smiled up him.
“How was that?” he asked, clearly expecting praise.
Norway knew his cheeks were flushed with a mix of lingering cold and pleasure, but he returned Denmark’s gaze with a determinedly unimpressed expression.
“What, you’re stopping there?” Norway asked. “How is the rest of me supposed to get warm?”
To his surprise, rather than looking abashed, Denmark chuckled in that deep, quiet voice that secretly got Norway a bit hot under the collar. Without a word, he took Norway into his arms, pulled him into his lap, and wrapped a blanket around his body like a cocoon. Norway sighed softly as he rested his still cool cheek against Denmark’s broad chest. His hand snuck out from under the blanket to find Denmark’s, pulling it back into the warm depths so that he could clutch it against himself.
“Is this better?” Denmark asked in that same deep, quiet voice, touching a kiss to the tip of Norway’s chilled nose.
“It’ll do,” Norway said aloofly. Only the movement of his thumb, which was stroking Denmark’s hand affectionately under the blanket, expressed his true feelings.
Denmark chuckled again at Norway’s contrary nature as he hugged his lover close.
For a long time, neither of them spoke; they simply lazed in each other’s presence. Norway, succumbing to the warmth and comfort of Denmark’s embrace, began to drowse in his arms. But though the motion slowed in his lethargy, Norway never completely stopped caressing Denmark’s hand. The next time Denmark spoke, he startled Norway out of the pleasant, hazy limbo between wakefulness and dreams.
“Hey Norge… you really like my hands, huh?”
Norway rubbed his tired violet eyes irritably. “What kind of stupid question is that? I was almost asleep, idiot Brother.”
“Sorry, but I had to know!” Denmark insisted. “It’s so hard to get you to tell me what you like. I mean, even though you get all weird about me being sappy with you in public, you’re almost always willing to let me hold your hand, and you were squeezing and stroking it just now, so... Yeah, I just had to ask.”
Norway blushed. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he did have a rather major weakness for Denmark’s hands. He couldn’t help loving how large and warm they were, and how his hand fit so perfectly in them. Though Denmark’s touch was sometimes a bit rougher than he might have liked when Denmark got excited, he loved feeling those long, powerful fingers against his skin. Well, Norway had no intention of revealing the depths to which he loved Denmark’s hands, but he also had no intention of lying.
“I don’t hate them,” he said as coolly as he could.
A big, goofy grin spread across Denmark’s face. “I see! So you really do like them! Ha ha! That’s cute!”
Norway blushed more deeply and sank down into his blanket to hide the color in his cheeks. Maybe he wouldn’t be so hesitant to admit to Denmark the things he liked if the idiot wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it.
“Hey Norge,” Denmark began again, more softly this time. “Where do you like them best? Show me where I should touch you.”
The Norwegian looked down at his blanket-covered knees awkwardly. He knew it was stupid, that he should be more at ease with admitting these sorts of things to his lover, but he couldn’t help being embarrassed. But Denmark had fixed him with that utterly love-struck gaze that Norway could never bring himself to say no to. He licked his lips nervously before guiding the hand that he had been clutching under the hem of his shirt to rest on the bare skin of his hip.
Denmark’s other hand was brought to the side of Norway’s face. The taller man caressed the curve of Norway’s flushed cheek with his thumb, causing Norway’s eyelids to flutter blissfully closed. He nuzzled into Denmark’s palm, and brushed the pad of his lover’s thumb shyly with his lips. To open his eyes would force him to face the brilliant, mushy smile he knew would be on Denmark’s face and he knew that looking upon it would embarrass him into retreat, so he kept his eyes closed.
Norway wasn’t aware of just how close Denmark’s face was until he felt the tender touch of his lips on his own. His heart contracted with a thrill of excitement as he leaned in to meet the kiss. The first meeting of mouths was too brief to be truly satisfying. Norway pursued Denmark as he separated from him, catching his lips greedily in his own.
The second kiss lasted a bit longer, and the third one longer still. Denmark’s tongue traced lightly along his lip, prompting Norway to allow it entrance. He met it with his own tongue as he curled his arms around Denmark’s broad shoulders. They pulled apart for a fraction of a second before seeking contact again, and then one more time.
“I love ya, Norge,” Denmark whispered against Norway’s lips. “I love ya so much it hurts.”
Norway, who was brilliantly flushed and still breathing a bit hard, stole a final brief, soft kiss. He longed to tell Denmark that he felt exactly the same way, but these sorts of things were always so difficult for him to say. How many times had he choked on those very sentiments?
No matter how deeply he loved Denmark (against his better judgment), no matter how he yearned to put those feelings into words, he always ended up getting hopelessly, humiliatingly tongue-tied. In his insecure moments, this fact taunted him, convincing him that he was a poor excuse for a lover. Norway’s brows furrowed in frustration.
That was when the hand on his hip drew Norway’s attention with a gentle squeeze, giving him an idea. He removed it from his hip, disentangled it from the blanket and cradled it in one of his own, palm up. Denmark watched him curiously as Norway brought a single finger to the flat surface that his hand had created and began to trace shapes onto it. It took him a moment to recognize them as letters, causing him to miss the first word.
elsker dig.
Denmark didn’t need to have caught the first word to understand the message that Norway was trying to convey. He felt as though his heart was swelling so large with joy that it would soon fill his entire chest. It was the first time that Norway had ever expressed that feeling in words. Denmark swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat and nodded shakily, indicating that he understood in the only way that his numb, elated brain could come up with.
Meanwhile, Norway had deliberately averted his eyes from Denmark’s overjoyed expression, burying his scarlet face up to the bridge of his nose in his blanket again. Why did stupid Denmark have to make such a big deal out of everything? It wasn't as if it was news to Denmark that Norway loved him. They were already in a relationship for heaven's sake! This was part of the reason that Norway had such difficulty being open with him, regardless of how strong his feelings were.
“You better not cry,” Norway mumbled, his voice muffled by the blanket. “Or laugh. Or say anything.”
Denmark nodded hurriedly, but failed to will his own ecstatic smile away. “Can I at least kiss you again?”
Norway forced himself to take a pause, as if he had to think it over, as if he weren’t already craving the sensation of Denmark’s lips, his strong, confident touch, and the sensation of his heart beating next to his own. “If you must.”
Denmark had to bite his own lip to force back the bubble of happy laughter that he knew would humiliate his lover, allowing their mouths to meet enthusiastically once more. Norway would later deny this with every fiber of his being, but Denmark was sure that he could feel the subtle upward curve of a tiny smile on Norway’s lips as his passionate kiss stole his breath away.
Author/Artist: me
Character(s) or Pairing(s): DenmarkxNorway
Rating: G/ K
Warnings: none
Summary: Deanon from the kink meme. The prompt was: "DenNor, complete and utterly romantic (and non-smutty) fluff. Slice-of-life, established relationship, brief visit-- anything goes as long as it's disgustingly, sappily romantic. Just no sexings or angst, please.
Bonus: Make-out session out of nowhere."
Norway let out a little sigh of relief as he threw his back against the front door, slamming it shut against the brutal winter chill and all-consuming darkness beyond it. He was used to the cold and considered himself to be pretty thick-skinned, but there was a point at which even he was no longer able to handle it. Tonight the temperature had fallen to that point, the point at which even breathing became painful, the harsh wind coaxing moisture into gathering at the corners of his eyes where it began to freeze. Norway would never have braved it if he and Denmark hadn’t run out of firewood.
“Oh, you’re back!” Denmark exclaimed, joining him in the entryway so that he could relieve him of the load of wood he’d brought in. “You took so long I was about to send out a search party.”
Norway sniffled and rubbed his frozen nose irritably. “If you wanted it done faster, then why didn’t you come out and help me? Stupid Brother.”
“Did you want me to?” Denmark asked in surprise as he dumped the wood into the storage rack beside the fireplace. “Last time I tried to help you, you got all mad and said you could do it yourself.”
Norway slowed in his process of removing his heavy fur coat as he tried to recall. Oh yeah, he had gotten annoyed with Denmark, hadn’t he? Then again, when was Norway not annoyed with Denmark? He knew his lover meant well, but there was only so much obsequiousness that he could take before it started to piss him off, and Denmark seemed to want to do everything for him. Still, Norway couldn’t help being miffed for some reason that Denmark hadn’t helped him with the firewood this time.
“Hmph,” he huffed grumpily, flexing his still stiff fingers as he stepped out of his boots.
Once Denmark had finished stoking the fire, he ushered Norway back to the couch in front of the hearth, pushing him down on it and taking a seat beside him. The flames were the only source of light in the room, casting a warm, flickering glow over everything and giving it a pleasant homey ambience. Subdued crackling from the burning logs drowned out the soft ticking of the clock which now read past ten o’clock PM. It was the kind of atmosphere in which Norway might have enjoyed curling into Denmark’s side with a novel and a cup of hot cocoa if he hadn’t been forced to leave his cozy haven to chop wood alone in the deathly cold and dead of night.
Denmark took Norway’s smaller hands in his, peeled off his half-frozen gloves, and examined his fingers. They were red from the cold. Norway was pretty sure that if he’d stayed out there any longer, he would have gotten frostbite.
“Holy crap, Norge! Your hands are freezing!” Denmark marveled.
“Obviously,” Norway groused. “No thanks to you.”
“Sorry Bro, I woulda helped you out if you’d asked!” he promised. “I just didn’t want you to get mad at me again. Here, let me make it up to you, ok?”
He cupped Norway’s hands in his and brought them to his face. Norway’s chilled cheeks pinked as Denmark began to blow warm breath on his frozen fingers. Without thinking, he slipped his fingers between Denmark’s, lacing them together. Denmark folded his thumb in obligingly against Norway’s palm, allowing him to close his hand around it. Suddenly he was beginning to feel warmer.
Denmark stopped puffing air on Norway’s skin so that he could touch his warm lips to each of his lover’s knuckles in a series of soft kisses. Norway watched his progress in silence. His pride told him that this was a poor excuse for compensation considering what he’d been put through, but to be embarrassingly honest with himself, he was rather enjoying this. He squeezed Denmark’s fingers gently to show his wordless approval.
When Denmark had finished treating Norway’s last knuckle, he smiled up him.
“How was that?” he asked, clearly expecting praise.
Norway knew his cheeks were flushed with a mix of lingering cold and pleasure, but he returned Denmark’s gaze with a determinedly unimpressed expression.
“What, you’re stopping there?” Norway asked. “How is the rest of me supposed to get warm?”
To his surprise, rather than looking abashed, Denmark chuckled in that deep, quiet voice that secretly got Norway a bit hot under the collar. Without a word, he took Norway into his arms, pulled him into his lap, and wrapped a blanket around his body like a cocoon. Norway sighed softly as he rested his still cool cheek against Denmark’s broad chest. His hand snuck out from under the blanket to find Denmark’s, pulling it back into the warm depths so that he could clutch it against himself.
“Is this better?” Denmark asked in that same deep, quiet voice, touching a kiss to the tip of Norway’s chilled nose.
“It’ll do,” Norway said aloofly. Only the movement of his thumb, which was stroking Denmark’s hand affectionately under the blanket, expressed his true feelings.
Denmark chuckled again at Norway’s contrary nature as he hugged his lover close.
For a long time, neither of them spoke; they simply lazed in each other’s presence. Norway, succumbing to the warmth and comfort of Denmark’s embrace, began to drowse in his arms. But though the motion slowed in his lethargy, Norway never completely stopped caressing Denmark’s hand. The next time Denmark spoke, he startled Norway out of the pleasant, hazy limbo between wakefulness and dreams.
“Hey Norge… you really like my hands, huh?”
Norway rubbed his tired violet eyes irritably. “What kind of stupid question is that? I was almost asleep, idiot Brother.”
“Sorry, but I had to know!” Denmark insisted. “It’s so hard to get you to tell me what you like. I mean, even though you get all weird about me being sappy with you in public, you’re almost always willing to let me hold your hand, and you were squeezing and stroking it just now, so... Yeah, I just had to ask.”
Norway blushed. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he did have a rather major weakness for Denmark’s hands. He couldn’t help loving how large and warm they were, and how his hand fit so perfectly in them. Though Denmark’s touch was sometimes a bit rougher than he might have liked when Denmark got excited, he loved feeling those long, powerful fingers against his skin. Well, Norway had no intention of revealing the depths to which he loved Denmark’s hands, but he also had no intention of lying.
“I don’t hate them,” he said as coolly as he could.
A big, goofy grin spread across Denmark’s face. “I see! So you really do like them! Ha ha! That’s cute!”
Norway blushed more deeply and sank down into his blanket to hide the color in his cheeks. Maybe he wouldn’t be so hesitant to admit to Denmark the things he liked if the idiot wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it.
“Hey Norge,” Denmark began again, more softly this time. “Where do you like them best? Show me where I should touch you.”
The Norwegian looked down at his blanket-covered knees awkwardly. He knew it was stupid, that he should be more at ease with admitting these sorts of things to his lover, but he couldn’t help being embarrassed. But Denmark had fixed him with that utterly love-struck gaze that Norway could never bring himself to say no to. He licked his lips nervously before guiding the hand that he had been clutching under the hem of his shirt to rest on the bare skin of his hip.
Denmark’s other hand was brought to the side of Norway’s face. The taller man caressed the curve of Norway’s flushed cheek with his thumb, causing Norway’s eyelids to flutter blissfully closed. He nuzzled into Denmark’s palm, and brushed the pad of his lover’s thumb shyly with his lips. To open his eyes would force him to face the brilliant, mushy smile he knew would be on Denmark’s face and he knew that looking upon it would embarrass him into retreat, so he kept his eyes closed.
Norway wasn’t aware of just how close Denmark’s face was until he felt the tender touch of his lips on his own. His heart contracted with a thrill of excitement as he leaned in to meet the kiss. The first meeting of mouths was too brief to be truly satisfying. Norway pursued Denmark as he separated from him, catching his lips greedily in his own.
The second kiss lasted a bit longer, and the third one longer still. Denmark’s tongue traced lightly along his lip, prompting Norway to allow it entrance. He met it with his own tongue as he curled his arms around Denmark’s broad shoulders. They pulled apart for a fraction of a second before seeking contact again, and then one more time.
“I love ya, Norge,” Denmark whispered against Norway’s lips. “I love ya so much it hurts.”
Norway, who was brilliantly flushed and still breathing a bit hard, stole a final brief, soft kiss. He longed to tell Denmark that he felt exactly the same way, but these sorts of things were always so difficult for him to say. How many times had he choked on those very sentiments?
No matter how deeply he loved Denmark (against his better judgment), no matter how he yearned to put those feelings into words, he always ended up getting hopelessly, humiliatingly tongue-tied. In his insecure moments, this fact taunted him, convincing him that he was a poor excuse for a lover. Norway’s brows furrowed in frustration.
That was when the hand on his hip drew Norway’s attention with a gentle squeeze, giving him an idea. He removed it from his hip, disentangled it from the blanket and cradled it in one of his own, palm up. Denmark watched him curiously as Norway brought a single finger to the flat surface that his hand had created and began to trace shapes onto it. It took him a moment to recognize them as letters, causing him to miss the first word.
elsker dig.
Denmark didn’t need to have caught the first word to understand the message that Norway was trying to convey. He felt as though his heart was swelling so large with joy that it would soon fill his entire chest. It was the first time that Norway had ever expressed that feeling in words. Denmark swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat and nodded shakily, indicating that he understood in the only way that his numb, elated brain could come up with.
Meanwhile, Norway had deliberately averted his eyes from Denmark’s overjoyed expression, burying his scarlet face up to the bridge of his nose in his blanket again. Why did stupid Denmark have to make such a big deal out of everything? It wasn't as if it was news to Denmark that Norway loved him. They were already in a relationship for heaven's sake! This was part of the reason that Norway had such difficulty being open with him, regardless of how strong his feelings were.
“You better not cry,” Norway mumbled, his voice muffled by the blanket. “Or laugh. Or say anything.”
Denmark nodded hurriedly, but failed to will his own ecstatic smile away. “Can I at least kiss you again?”
Norway forced himself to take a pause, as if he had to think it over, as if he weren’t already craving the sensation of Denmark’s lips, his strong, confident touch, and the sensation of his heart beating next to his own. “If you must.”
Denmark had to bite his own lip to force back the bubble of happy laughter that he knew would humiliate his lover, allowing their mouths to meet enthusiastically once more. Norway would later deny this with every fiber of his being, but Denmark was sure that he could feel the subtle upward curve of a tiny smile on Norway’s lips as his passionate kiss stole his breath away.